


e eu, oceano

by tomhardad



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, bodyguard!nicky/famous author!joe, so much sappiness it's gonna make u GAG Lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomhardad/pseuds/tomhardad
Summary: Yusuf al-Kaysani is a famous poet/book author/painter in search of a bodyguard. Nicolo di Genova is happy being a self-defense instructor at Nile's school. Everything changes when Nile gives them a little push.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> guess i'm on ao3 now!
> 
> this insanity was born after my tumblr friend kayla sent me a prompt on my old tumblr and something unlocked in my brain lol where this is all going, you ask? idk but i'm enjoying the ride 🌺
> 
> title from [djavan's song "oceano"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kqdlAYNEzk&ab_channel=DjavanVEVO) because i'm SURE nico is a fan. i'm sure of it :)))

_O Lover! I plead weakly,_

_ever yours to command._

_Poetry lives on the corner_

_of your quivering lips,_

_ruddy and hungry and parted._

_Do not evade me, even_

_(not even, I beg)_

_if we part._

It all starts one balmy Thursday evening, after Nicolo’s last class of the day is finished.

“Nice work, everybody! Keep practicing the footwork because next week I want to see how much progress you’ve all made,” he says as his students make their hasty escapes. A couple of them wish him a nice weekend and then he is finally alone - achy and sweaty too, but pleased after seeing his students’ improvement.

Nicolo is wiping the sweat off his face and neck with a fluffy green towel when he hears a tentative knock on his classroom’s door.

“Come in!” His voice sounds muffled against the towel, and with his back to the door his heart actively skips a beat when he finally turns around to see who is there.

He recognizes that pair of warm brown eyes immediately.

“Good evening,” Yusuf al-Kaysani greets in flawless italian, a polite smile pulling his ruddy lips upwards. “Are you Nicolo di Genova?”

Nicolo couldn’t use his voice if his life depended on it, not after knowing how his name sounded as it came out of Yusuf al-Kaysani’s lips.

He is still conscious enough to nod, throwing the towel on his left shoulder. Yusuf’s smile widens into a full-blown grin, the skin around his gorgeous eyes crinkling at the corners to Nicolo’s utter despair. “That’s great! I’m terribly sorry for barging into your room like this, Nile said you are the person I was looking for.” It’s only as Yusuf moves in his direction that Nicolo notices that he’s barefoot, an elegant pair of leather shoes abandoned by the door, right next to Nicolo’s old sneakers. “She says you are the best self-defense instructor she has in her school.”

Nicolo flushes, not only because of what Yusuf has just said but also (and more importantly) because he has a pretty good idea of _why_ Nile has said that about him in the first place. “How can I help you, mister al-Kaysani?” Nicolo’s voice is too slow but steady, and he wonders if all of this is just another one of his crazy dreams.

_Yusuf al-Kaysani here… it’s got to be a dream._

Yusuf rolls the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his sinewy forearms, his long fingers working deftly, and Nicolo _has_ to look away. “Well, to keep a long story short, my agent is pestering me about finding a bodyguard. Since my new book tour starts in Argentina in five days, I came here to talk to Nile in person, given that she is the expert on the subject, and she suggested your name,” Nicolo meets his brown eyes again to find Yusuf smirking, clearly amused. “She said I should challenge you for a duel, to see just how good you are.”

Nicolo chokes on air, silently vowing to hunt down his boss if he _ever_ made it out of there with his sanity intact. “I think Nile might be exaggerating things,” he says in french before he can stop himself, his cheeks burning even brighter when Yusuf laughs, warm brown eyes looking at him with renewed interest.

“Impressive,” Yusuf replies in arabic and then says something Nicolo can’t quite grasp.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I think you might be even _better_ than Nile said you were, Nicolo,” Yusuf’s smile softens, his gaze lingering on his face and Nicolo ties his hair up in a loose bun, just to have something to do with his hands. 

Silence stretches for longer than it’s comfortable until Yusuf breaks it, glancing around the empty room towards the weapons’ rack. “Let’s do it like this - I’m going to give you my phone number, so if you decide on taking the job you only need to text me, okay? I’m in Chicago until Sunday morning, by the way.” He walks up to the rack and Nicolo is _definitely not_ checking out his ass on those obscenely tight trousers ( _no fucking way_ ) as he reaches for a pair of batons, feeling their weight on his hands. “First, however… you have to disarm me.”

_Oh, fuck._

Nicolo is _so_ screwed.

*

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

The bookstore was one of the oldest in Italy and definitely one of Nicolo’s favorites. The never-ending aisles of books all cramped up in a three-storey stone building were part of the charm of that place that smelled and felt like a second home to him. Nicolo could lose hours in there, just reading random books and listening to the hum of muffled conversations.

On the day he first took his best friend Nile there, however, they were surprised to find the place absolutely _crowded._

“What’s going on here today, are they giving books for free?” Nile excused herself and managed to enter the bookstore, Nicolo in tow as they slowly tried to find a corner that was somewhat empty. 

“There’s poetry reading on the second floor,” Nicolo said, pointing upwards, where many more people stood practically glued to one another, listening avidly to… a poet named Yusuf al-Kaysani. “They say this guy’s very good.”

What Nicolo had failed to say to Nile was that he was _well aware_ of Yusuf’s quality as a poet. He had first come across his poems on a poetry website a couple of years earlier, different versions written in italian, french, english and arabic, all of them full of longing and burning with fiery passions. They all talked about love and loss in a way that touched Nicolo’s soul specifically, unfolding layers of himself he wasn’t truly aware existed.

He needed to see the person behind those words.

So they trudged along, Nicolo’s blood running faster through his veins with each step he took, until they finally reached the second floor and Nicolo saw him.

Yusuf was.... younger than Nicolo had imagined, probably closer to his own age. He seemed taller than him from that distance, standing behind a pulpit in the middle of a circle of avid listeners. His dark brown hair was curly like the cherubs in his parents’ house, falling against his forehead. His eyes seemed a shade lighter than his hair but equally mesmerizing, a warm brown that reminded Nicolo of a summer day by the beach, lazing in the sun. The elegant slope of his nose, the sharp edge of his jawline and his very rosy lips all added to the man’s incomparable beauty, and Nicolo was caught in Yusuf’s gravitational pull when he noticed that Yusuf was also staring _at him_.

Heat rose high on Nicolo’s cheeks when Yusuf whispered,

_“You are lust personified,_

_Made to ignite fiery passions_

_In unwary men._

_Embrace me, sweet friend,_

_And ignite that fire on me.”_

Nicolo swallowed thickly, his cheeks on fire as the floor erupted into enthusiastic applause. Yusuf offered him a nod and a small smile and looked back at the crowd, his smile morphing into a grin.

_He even has dimples…_ Nicolo let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Okay, but he is _very_ good, huh?” Nile smiled, winking teasingly at him.

Nicolo would _never_ be able to live that one down.


	2. Chapter 2

Nicolo hates to sound pretentious but… he’s actually _very good_ at what he does. Very _fucking_ good.

You see, Nicolo is patient. To outsmart your opponent one only needs patience, is what he always tells his students; _patience and calm_.

Yusuf moves lazily across the mat, circling him, his face unreadable, his feet practically gliding off the floor, quiet as a cat. His brown eyes move up and down Nicolo’s body studying him, waiting for his first move. _Whoever trained him did an excellent job_ , Nicolo decides, standing his ground.

_He can be good but I’m better._

Nicolo notices the infinitesimal twitch on Yusuf’s jaw before he strikes, batons moving faster than Nicolo had anticipated. The blows miss his torso but Yusuf is immediately aiming at his legs, a well-performed kick nearly knocking him down on his ass. Nicolo can’t help but smile, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Yusuf circles him again, brown eyes narrowing as he prepares another blow.

Nicolo breathes and waits. He has all the time in the world.

When Yusuf strikes again, Nicolo manages to send one of the batons flying across the room with a well-placed blow, quickly escaping his very ingenious attempt at a chokehold. It’s Yusuf’s turn to smile when Nicolo almost disarms him, swiftly moving the baton from his right to his left hand at the very last second, evading him once again. “Guess that’s enough for a warm-up,” Yusuf charges and they dance, moves and countermoves that match each other perfectly, their pants and gasps the only sound filling up the room. 

Nicolo could laugh out of sheer _joy_ for being able to fight someone who moves so skillfully, so aware of his body and what it can do that it made Nicolo a little envious. Yusuf’s dexterity is undeniable and if Nicolo wasn’t so busy trying not to lose to him, he would stop and just _stare_ the entrancing movement of his muscles as he throws a punch or a kick, at the way he sweeps the baton in a perfect arc like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, easier than breathing.

Unfortunately, Nicolo _can’t_ stare, so he just fights.

They lose track of time completely, sweat running down their faces and backs, their movements becoming a little sloppier as exasperation mounts. They can both read the other like a book now, Nicolo blocking Yusuf’s blows with ease and Yusuf avoiding his traps like a scaredy-cat, graceful as a dancer.

It’s when Yusuf keeps his legs a mere inch wider apart that Nicolo sees his opening. He blocks his right hand blow with his left arm and kicks his left shin, tumbling down on top of him, both of his hands effectively pinning his forearms in place. Nicolo rests his full weight on Yusuf until he stops squirming altogether, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “That was--” Yusuf trails off, panting so close to Nicolo’s parted lips he could feel it on his sweaty skin, warm and distracting and absolutely fucking _hot_.

Nicolo waits but Yusuf doesn’t say anything else; he merely observes him in wonder as if he was seeing him for the first time, his warm brown eyes holding him captive. Nicolo, in turn, watches his face with intent, mesmerized to notice several freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, some of them disappearing under his beard, tiny constellations he longed to trace with his hands and lips.

His hands slide up to Yusuf’s wrist, his thumb grazing his elevated pulse point, the skin there so soft Nicolo has to chew on the inside of his cheek to not do something stupid. Yusuf’s gaze flicker to his parted lips and Nicolo’s breath catches in his throat, his heartbeat deafening to his own ears. He whispers something in dutch, his voice husky, and Nicolo frowns, confused. “What does that mean?”

Yusuf blinks as if he’s just woken up from a dream, heat rising on his cheeks again, only this time it has _nothing_ to do with physical exertion. “Nothing, I was just thinking out loud,” he’s looking everywhere but at Nicolo’s face, his blush deepening, and Nicolo wishes he knew how to speak dutch.

Before he can make any attempts at finding out what is going on, Nile knocks on the door and says, “I see you’re getting along _pretty well_.”

Nicolo gets up immediately, his face on fire, offering Yusuf a hand which he takes at once, his palm considerably softer (and warmer) than Nicolo’s. Yusuf is quicker to find his voice again, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Yeah, Nicolo has just very effectively kicked my ass. You were right, he’s _amazing_.” 

Nicolo cannot look at the open collar of Yusuf’s shirt, or at how his neck glistens with sweat under the fluorescent lights of the classroom, or at how he looks completely rumpled like they had just… _just…_

Nicolo is _parched_ . “I was only showing mister al-Kaysani that he shouldn’t keep his feet too wide apart or he will be vulnerable to attacks.” Thankfully his voice comes out steady enough because heaven knows he is everything _but_ steady.

Yusuf chuckles good-naturedly. “And you _definitely_ showed me, Nicolo.” Their eyes meet and Nicolo is gone again, forgetting for a whole minute that they weren’t alone anymore.

Nile clears her throat loudly enough to make her presence known, though, realization making her dark brown eyes widen comically. “This is an interesting development,” she mutters through gritted teeth, but Nicolo hears her, and judging by the color rising on Yusuf’s cheeks again, so did him. “Alright Joe, do you mind if I steal your new best friend for a minute?” Nile raises one eyebrow at Yusuf and his eye roll shouldn’t be adorable but it really is, to Nicolo’s absolute despair.

“Of course not, I have some things to organize back at the hotel anyway,” He produces a business card from his trousers’ pocket and offers it to Nicolo, his cellphone number printed in a neatly cursive font. “Remember, I’m in town until Sunday morning. I’d love it if you could work for me.”

Nicolo takes the card in his hand, their fingers brushing for one fleeting moment. “I’ll think about it, mister al-Kaysani,” he promises in french, feeling how warm the slip of paper is as he places it in his pants’ pocket. 

Yusuf’s answering grin could light up a small town. “You’ve kicked my ass already, there’s no need for formalities anymore - call me Joe.”

_Joe._ Nicolo nods, pushing a strand of brown hair behind his ear, pretending not to notice Nile’s shit-eating grin where she stands beside him. Yusuf kisses her forehead, laughing openly when she purses her lips, feigning disgust. “Lovely to see you again, miss Freeman.”

“Always great to see you, Joe, go catch up on your beauty sleep.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” then he turns to Nicolo, offering his hand. “Mister di Genova, don’t forget about me,” he wiggles his eyebrows and Nicolo chuckles, shaking his hand one last time.

“I sincerely doubt that’s possible, Joe,” slips out before he can second guess himself, and amazingly Nicolo doesn’t blush - he just stares deeply into Yusuf’s eyes, an indescribable feeling coursing through his body when it’s _Yusuf_ who looks away first, smiling shyly. “And you can call me Nicky.”

Yusuf lets go of his hand first, and Nicolo misses his warmth immediately. “ _Nicky_ ,” his smile widens and Nicolo can almost _hear_ Nile’s eye roll. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good night, guys.”

Nicolo’s eyes follow him as he leaves the room, bending to pick up his shoes on the way out, and Nicolo is too weak _not_ to stare at his ass now, his mouth watering. 

“ _Oh my God_ , please tell me you’re gonna say yes to this,” Nile pushes him hard enough to make him stumble and effectively pull him out of a very dangerous reverie.

Nicolo shrugs, feeling how achy his muscles are. _All thanks to Yusuf_. “I like my job here, Nile.”

And that _is_ true - Nicolo has been working at Nile’s self-defense school for the past four years and it is, without a doubt, the best job he’s ever had. He’s found his place after spending many years adrift, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Nile is his best friend, his students are his extended family and he loves his routine; why would he _ever_ crave change?

Except… he _does_ . And Nile (highly observant Nile who can read him like a book, who understands him better than most) _knows_ this, too.

“Like I would _ever_ give up my best instructor after three months,” Nile laughs, pushing a dreadlock behind her ear. “Joe would have to fight me, y’know.”

Nicolo smiles at that, amused. “He would probably win,” he teases, remembering how Yusuf had almost knocked him down easily enough.

“Thanks for trusting my fighting skills, Nicky, you’re very reassuring.” She smiles when Nicolo laughs, a playful glint in her dark brown eyes. “Seriously, though. This could be good for you - getting to spend three months travelling the world with your secret famous crush?! You can always thank me later.”

“You’re insufferable,” Nicolo cannot believe he’s blushing now, but there’s no use trying to hide it from Nile. _Maybe I am_ that _pathetic._ “What are you up to with this?” He asks because Nile can read him like no one else but Nicolo can read her, too, and she’s _definitely_ up to no good.

Nile blinks, her face a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “Nicky, I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.”

*

Nicolo stares at his phone like it’s a time bomb ready to go off, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. It’s Saturday evening, a little after eight o’clock.

_It’s now or never._

_Good evening, this is Nicolo di Genova. My answer is yes._

He hits send before he can stop himself, hating how wildly his heart is beating as he waits for Yusuf’s reply with bated breath.

To his surprise, it takes merely a minute before his phone vibrates in his hand, eyes widening as he reads Yusuf’s message.

**_Hi, Nicky! You sure know how to keep a man waiting :))) Do you have a suit?_ **

Nicolo is almost sure his heart is on his throat now. 

_Yeah, sure._

Yusuf’s reply is almost instantaneous.

**_Awesome! Pack that (and your passport ofc) and meet me at O’Hare’s terminal 1 tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. I’ll bring your ticket ;)_ **

Nicolo flushes bright crimson as he stares at his suitcase, all packed up and ready to go, resting against his living room wall. It’s then that something else occurs to him.

_Should I shave my beard?_

He is not exactly sure what propels him to ask that, but it seemed important somehow. This time, Yusuf’s reply takes a little longer to arrive but when it does, Nicolo can’t help but grin stupidly.

**_Only if you want to. I actually like your beard._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently o'hare doesn't have flights to argentina........ shhhh 😐
> 
> we're finally going somewhere!!!!! thank u all so much for the kudos and comments they always make me smile 😘😘😘

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr i'm [@yusufnicolo](https://yusufnicolo.tumblr.com)


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